


Lowest of Lows

by ricochetaddams



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:31:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6835402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricochetaddams/pseuds/ricochetaddams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was always Jack and Lo<br/>Until the day she forgot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Her

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a story in, like, three years. Please understand this. This story has been swimming in my head for awhile, so I decided to just do it. This is the only edited part that I have so far, that's why it'll be kinda short. The chapters will get longer the more I go.  
> Obviously I don't own any of the characters except for my own originals.  
> I really hope whoever reads it will enjoy!

 

# Her.  
  


The newest addition to Arkham Asylum sat parallel to it's head doctor. Now, this doctor was one of the few psychologists left at the asylum. After hearing the verdict of the new patient, five of them had quit— fearing the possibility of having to cater to this monstrous man.

The hospital was now left with three psychologists to attend to over 100 residents. The “Now Hiring” headline in Gotham's Daily Newspaper had less than exceptional results.

The three psychologist's: Dr. Blood, Dr. Young, and Dr. Bunah, had a meeting with Jeremiah Arkham himself. Arkham decided that only the most understanding doctor could work on the criminal. With Dr. Blood being too dismissive and Dr. Young being too quick to medicate; it was the obvious choice to appoint Dr. Bunah.

It was unbelievable to Dr. Bunah to see this man in the flesh and not on the news or tabloids. He sat, lurched forward in his seat. His toxic green tinted hair covering his fresh, clean face. The clown let out loud breaths. The doctor leaned back, trying his best to look calm, he cleared his throat, “Welcome Joker.”

The man didn't move or talk, which surprised the psychologist. He sighed and started again. “Welcome to Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, I'm Dr. Bunah, I will be your psychologist during your stay with us. I will evaluate you everyday for your first week, then once a week afterward, until I determine a diagnosis in which yd and then seen once a month.” His often repeated spiel ended with a giggle from the other side of his desk. Bunah came to the realization that the man would not speak without a mask, much like some of his patients. He then felt almost guilty. He pulled one of his desk drawers open, taking out the face paints. He supplied himself with the paint when he read the patient's case file. Bunah wanted nothing more but preparation.

With cuffed hands, Joker leaned forward and slabbed on the make-up to his plain face. As he did so, the doctor continued. “You will not be free to roam in your room, but we do expect you to follow orders when commanded to do so. Once we feel that you are not a danger to other residents or yourself, you will be able to take part in the activities provided to you.”

The now made up man giggled once more and sighed, “Activities, eh? How fun. Tell me, doc, is there recess? How about field trips?”

The doctor smirked. All the patients found the activities childlike and most refused to take part in any of them. “I know it doesn't seem like your idea of fun-”

The clown laughed, “Far from it in fact.”

“Even so, if you ever wish to acquit from your punishment, you might want to show that you are capable of being around...”

“Other criminals?” He growled with a smile, fixing himself to sit straight now. The doctor marked this as some form of intimidation. The new resident carried on, “I'm just enjoying this little...vacation. I need some down time doc, all my schemes take time to build. This'll be a perfect opportunity for me. I was starting to think I needed some alone time anyways.”

“Did you spend a lot of time with other people then?” The doctor asked with a raised eyebrow, the Joker seemed like the lone-wolf type.

“Just goons. They never seemed to reach my level of, uh, intellect.” He pointed to his head before going into another fit of giggles.

“I bet,” The doctor stood now, wanting to observe the man closer. The closer her got the less it seemed like he was watching a man and more like a venomous snake.

The Joker cracked his neck, “Trying to get a good look? I think the red paint accents them perfectly. Speaking of which, do you want to know how-”

A soft knock came from the other side of the metal door that lead to the main lobby. The aggravated doctor strode to the door, opening it with one quick motion. “Closed door means I'm with a patient, Charlotte, you know this.”

 _Charlotte._ The Joker's mind wondered. A name that put a strain on him for years.

“I know,” A breathless voice answered, making the Joker snap his head as far as he could to see who it belonged to. Of course, the fat doctor blocked any view, “I'm sorry, Doctor. Hugo and Jonathon have gotten into a fight and none of the guards will split them up. I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do.”

“God dammit! Stay here and watch him, I'll be right back.” The doctor booked down the hallway until he wasn't almost out of sight.

A sudden realization droning over her. Charlotte was now alone with a criminal with an infamous smile. She was almost too frightened to turn around. Once she built up the courage to do the simple motion the Jokers head snapped forward.

She tossed her dark chocolate locks over her shoulder and straightened her spine. “I'm sorry I had to interrupt your appointment. I promise you if it weren't something serious he would of never left. He's a good doctor.”

He stayed quiet and still, lurching forward once more.

“I know he's a good doctor!” She assured as she noticed she was sounding rather commercial like, “He's my doctor too. I've been seeing him for years now! Oh! Don't worry, I'm not insane! He wouldn't leave me alone with you if I was.” She let out a small, awkward laugh.

The hunched over man started forming more like ball, “This... this isn't real. Did they shoot me up with something before I got here?” He questioned out loud to himself.

“I'm sorry?” She took a step toward the patient, only to have him curl into himself.

“Stop talking,” He said in a deep growl, “You sound just like her.”

“I didn't mean to upset you-”

“Get away!” He roared, twisting and thrashing himself in his restraints.

She took a step back as two guards pushed their way into the office, the younger one grabbing her arm as he ran in. “You okay, Char?” he asked as he examined the the small woman's face covered in dread.

“Yeah, I'm fine, Ned,” She sighed while shaking her head. “You might wanna get Dr. Bunah back here though before he get's more-”

A loud crack echoed through the air followed by a low groan. Ned took a hesitant step in front of Charlotte as he reached for his baton. The clown spit at the injured man on the ground. His dark, vicious eyes glaring up at her.

She kept her eyes locked on the criminal as the two took a step back. Once the able bodied guard unsheathed his baton, Joker launched at him. It only took seconds for the resident to get the upper hand. Ned, exhausted, gave up his baton to the killer. With one blow to the head the young guard passed out next to his co-worker on the ground.

Instead of running out of the room at top speed, like a normal person would; she backed herself into the door. His some how familiar bulging eyes scanning her every detail, making her feel bare to her core. With a few strides of his long legs he was a mere inches from her face with his painted hands around her neck. His grip wasn't tight, but his enraged face made her too afraid to even try to move.

He lapped at the corners of his mouth, “Who are you?”

“I'm sorry,” She yipped, “I had a class today and the patients are so much bigger than me and no one would do anything-”

“That's not what I asked,” He growled as he threw her back into the door, his hands still in place. Fists pounding and barley audible voices resonated from the other side of it. She wasn't going to scream. They both knew she wouldn't dare.

“I-I'm Charlotte C-Clover,” She began, not knowing what to follow up with. The Joker brought his painted face closer to hers, waiting for her to continue. “I do the art classes for the less...dangerous patients. I have, uh, post-traumatic amnesia, I-I've been a patient for about five years.” She slowly put her small, shaking hands up between the two of them. His once violent face washed over with shock as his hands fell from her neck.

He turned around, stepped over the two injured men and fell back into his seat. He leaned his head back to stare up at the ceiling his lips forming into a curve. Charlotte reached for the door knob without taking her eyes off of the criminal. A new wave of emotion sought through the office. Instead of looking like a rabid dog, Joker had relaxed. His shoulders had gone down into a less predatory position. The vein that was jolting in his neck, now disappeared completely. His face beamed with realization.

“I can't fucking believe it,” He let out a light laugh, rolling his head toward the girl. He didn't care that her hands were on the shaking locked door knob. He didn't care that she was about to book it out of the room.

This whole time she was alive.

  
  


 

 


	2. Him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels good to be writing consistently again. Thanks for the support. :)

# Him.

  
Charlotte sat in the uncomfortable padded chair staring at her hands. Dr. Bunah stood across from her, his arms crossed to lay on his big belly. The hospital's medical staff came to tend to the three.

Once Joker allowed her to exit the room, five guards spilled in with a straight jacket. He put it on without any issue and wore a joyous smile on his painted face.

“What did he say to you?” He inquired. Charlotte jumped out of her thoughts to stare at the burly doctor.

Shaking her head at the events that just took place, she took a deep breath, “He acted like he knew me.” Her whole body was shaking. Could she have a connection to someone like The Joker before her accident? It seemed unfathomable. Maybe he's the one that did this to her. The amnesia. He's hurt complete strangers without a glance. Was she another causality of his rampage across Gotham?

The doctor glanced around his office, trying to concoct a comforting idea to his patient. “Anything is possible,” was the best he could come up with. He watched her groan and let her head fall. “This is my fault,” he began to walk to toward her and put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “I should not of left you alone with him especially when I know what he's capable of. He's manipulative. I would not recommend taking anything he says in a literal sense. Okay?”

“You didn't see how upset he was...”

“I'm going to go see him after I see you off. Should I call Gordon? Tell him what you told me?”

“It's alright.” She felt that if she told the commissioner about what happened it would be more disorderly. “I'll see you tomorrow, Adiv.”

As she went back to her class room to collect her things, her mind kept wandering back to the criminal's familiarity. His voice filled her. The way his body leaned against hers left her feeling electric. She didn't want to believe him, but a part of her felt that it hadn't been the first time his hands were on her.

Her art room was set up the preschoolers would enjoy. It would make sense why the inmates hated it so much. She posted some of their art on the white brick walls. Her room had the biggest windows and had many incidents of patients trying to break through them. Try. The windows were unbreakable glass. It was a generous gift from Wayne Enterprises.

It was a surprise to see that her purse hadn't moved from under her desk. Her house keys, her phone, her wallet. Everything was still in it. Almost every day someone would take something out of her purse. If it was her wallet, she'd go to Selina's cell. Her Xanax would be in the hands of Jonathon, but he would never swallow the pills. Ivy would be chewing away at her spearmint gum. Those were her usual's.

Most of the inmates she got along with and the rest never gave her a second glance. Arkham was more of her home than her actual apartment. Charlotte didn't think the inmates were anymore crazy than she was. Gotham creates criminals and Arkham was just a time out. They always escaped, but came back when they needed a break.

She locked up her room and started to make her way to the entrance.

“Charlotte! Wait up!” A breathless voice called out from down the hallway.

She let out an annoyed sigh. _Maybe I should just pretend I didn't hear him_. She kept walking only to have him call her name out louder. Groaning, she put on her best smile and turned around.

Ned came flying down the hall, still holding an ice pack to the side of his head, “What do you got going on tonight?” A goofy smile on his lips.

“I'm going home, Edwin. Something you might want to consider.” She eyed his injury and walked past him.

“Ned. Oh, I was in soccer, this is nothing.” He discarded his ice pack while trying to keep up with her, “You know Jerry, right?”

“Jerry? The guard that can't keep his hands to himself for three seconds?”

Ned stopped in front of her, blocking her path so he could continue, “Yeah, him! He's having a little get together tonight. All the guards and nurses are going to be there. You should come!”

“I'll pass, thank you.” She tried stepping around him, only for him to move in front of her again.

“Are you sure? Your apartment is right down the street from me, I could just swing by and pick you up. It's no big deal.”

“Okay A: Your apartment is two miles away from mine and B: I appreciate the offer. It's sweet of you, but I just want to go home.” A small cackle echoed through the empty halls following her statement, making her shiver.

Ned gave a solemn nod and moved out of her way. “Okay, maybe some other time.” He smiled as he undid the first buttons of his shirt, “I'll catch you around.” He waved before departing. He was sickening sweet and not bad to look at, but his constant badgering drove her insane.

Finally, the front entrance was in her view. She swung open the doors to meet with the cool, early October air. The leaves were starting to change. Soon enough the groundskeepers would be putting up the Halloween decorations. She smiled at the thought. She woke up around this time of year.

_Two detectives obtrude her hospital room, one on each side of the weeping woman's bed. She couldn't remember how she got there and why her head hurt so bad._

_“_ _Can you tell us your name, honey?” The mustachioed man spoke in a cool tone._

_She sniffled and shook her head, making more tears fall out in the process._

_“_ _Well, I can,” He cradled her small hands in his rough ones, he put her I.D. In her hand, “You're name is Charlotte.”_

_“_ _Charlotte Clover,” She gasped as she remembered, “What happened? Did I get in an accident?” She felt the bandage taped to the side of her head, wincing as she did so._

_“_ _We found you down in the sewers, you washed up on one of the spillage ways. There was a lot of water in your lungs, and what looks like a shot gun graze to your head. Can you try to remember how you got down there?”_

_The whole thing sounded fictional. Every time she tried to force her memory, it came back a white space, but she remembered an agonizing scream. A scream that could shatter someone's heart, but the owner it resonated from she could no recall._

_“_ _I just remember people screaming,” She started, only to trail off, “but I don't know why.”_

_“_ _Don't worry, Miss Clover,” Spoke a hefty, brown skinned doctor. “In due time you will be able to recall, but as for now I think you need to rest.” He turned to the two lawmen with a raised eyebrow, “Detectives?”_

_They both nodded, the mustached man handing his card to the patient. “If you remember anything, anything at all, please give me a call.” The large doctor followed the men out of the room with a click of the door._

_She took his card and inspected it. His printed name shining in the dim light of the room, “James Gordon”_

Something happens when every memory collected over a life span disappears: You lose. The hospital nor the police could find a single soul that knew of her. No one to bring the pieces back together.

That's why she stills sees Bunah's with only a handful of things remembered. It's been five years, and still she felt like she wasn't whole.

She turned her head back to the dark asylum as she reached the gates. She didn't feel complete but when her mind trailed back to Joker, she felt like he held a piece of her puzzle.

●

Joker paced his room, his twisted mind full of questions.

_Why did I never check here?_

_Even if the shot didn't kill her, she would've drowned._

_Did_ ** _ **he**_** _know she wasn't dead?_

For four years and eleven months, 1,794 days, Lo was living her life without him. Without knowing him. All while he began his complete desolation and despair. Not to mention he felt so insulted when she didn't recognize him.

“Amnesia.” He muttered.

“Post-traumatic amnesia.” Bunah followed him up with. Joker didn't even notice him come in as he was getting his thoughts together. He raised his eyebrow at the doctor as he took a seat on the metallic chair drilled into the floor. Bunah had done away with his white coat and looked just as exhausted as the criminal.

“What does she remember?”

“I'm not at liberty to discuss what my patient does and doesn't remember, but I can say she doesn't recall much. Never mentioned she associated with a mass-murdering clown that's for sure.”

Joker shook his head and laid back into his thin mattress. As much as he didn't like to to admit, he wasn't always 'The Joker' but he sure wasn't going to let the doctor know that. A pang of guilt hitting him like on-coming traffic. His face twisted as he thought back to their last night together.

“A bullet grazed the left side of her head. Homeless found her washed up in one of the tunnel banks. Some old man did CPR and got all the water out of her lungs. She was comatose for a good week or two and we treated her for Typhoid. When she woke up she was hysterical. Couldn't even remember her own name.” The doctor gave him the basic details, watching as the clowns face shadowed with more and more shame. “See, I've gotten to know Charlotte over the last few years. She's kind, generous, hard working woman. So, as you could imagine, I can not picture her being anything other than that.”

Joker perched up like a lion, his eyes became dark, enraged orbs hungry. “What are ya gettin' at here, doc?” He bit out, the vein in his neck starting to appear once more.

“I should just cut to the chase then: Did you shoot her or did you ****get**** her shot.”

In an instant, the painted man stood, his shoulders heaving at the calm doctor. He looked like a predator, but it was nothing Bunah wasn't already used to. The doctor put his hands up with a chuckle, making Joker even more infuriated. Bunah got his answer with the simple motion.

“Be on your best behavior for a week and I can get you into her class. Then maybe you can explain this mess to her.” He finally stood, wanting nothing else to do with this situation. “She's a good person. We need as many as we can get in this forsaken city. If you ever cared for her I expect you will do what is best.”

Then he was gone as he entered. Joker approached the locked, metal door. His skin felt like it was on fire. His shaking hands balled into fists before he pounded at the door over and over again.

_Do what's best? Do what's best?! I'll show em what's best, Doc, but it ain't gonna be pretty._

A loud string of howling laughter reverberated throughout Arkham and into Gotham's night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think my story is visually a lot more appealing on a word document instead of this forum but whatever I'm just OCD about it


	3. His Lo

 

 

_"Wake up," she whispered, making his ear tickle against her lips. He covered his eyes from the late morning light. For a basement apartment, it could get some blinding light off the small patches of grass that surrounded the brick building. He groaned as he stretched his naked body against the bed, his mouth let out a hearty yawn. She giggled his name as she sat up, letting the gravity take the sheets around her._

_Her raindrop breasts were the first thing he noticed as she reached her arms toward the ceiling; ruffling her pixie cut as she did so. Then the small "J" he poked onto her wrist. She did the same to his thumb, except it spelled out her name. His name for her. Lo._

_For the first time in a ridiculous amount of time, they woke up safe. That's how he planned to keep it._

_He held her arm back as she went to stand. He needed to feel this for a while longer. She smiled, not enough to show her simple. She always made a conscious effort to hide it, but by the end of the day he would see it over a hundred times. So she could try all she wants._

_She stretched her arm around his waist when she rolled back into bed, her chin resting on his smooth chest. He ran his hand through her unruly hair and then his own._

_What a mediocre place for such a beautiful moment._

_"What's keeping you?" Her voice sounded like cotton. He could never imagine being graced by someone so soft._

_"I just wanna remember this," he mumbled, sleep still trailing against his words. He rubbed his tattooed thumb across her cheek, under her delicious chocolate eye, "just stay how you are."_

**EEEERRRRRRRRR**

The morning buzzer was an unceremonious obstruction of his sleep. He groaned, upset when he was taken from his dream.

Joker hadn't dreamed about Lo often, but when he did it felt worse then what any masked vigilante could do to him.

Had The Batman ever suffered from true loss? Sure, he blew his crush to smithereens, but she was with Dent. Plus, Joker let him off easy. He didn't kill the girl right in front of his eyes, like the criminal's past enemies.

The doctor, the fat one, promised he'd be able to get near her again. Maybe this time, he wouldn't stand so close. She never was able to get a good look the first time he assaulted her. It wasn't his fault he attacked her either. It's insulting that someone would ever dare be so much like her. If he stood a little further back, she would be able to recognize him.

He walked toward the metal sink, rubbing his face as he did so, only to stop when he reached his reflection. His make up had a tendency rub off in his sleep, making him face—well, his face.

"Oh, right," he grimaced at himself forgetting about his now wider smile. He lapped at his dry lips. The scars would be hard to explain, but he'll burn that bridge when he gets there.

"Inmate," a voice called from the door, "to the wall, hands to your side." Joker recognized the guard and not just from the bruise on the side of his face. His voice was also familiar. Ha. That boy was the one trying to con his Lo into going out with him, Joker couldn't help but giggle at his rejection.

Bunah said he had to be on his 'best behavior' in order to get close to her again, so for the sake of it, he obliged.

As his hands were being cuffed, Joker couldn't help but to get to know his surroundings. It was a bad habit of his."I'd thought you'd take the day off, Officer..."

The cop-wanna-be spoke lower than he did with Lo in the hallway. Less pathetic, but still... pathetic, "Liver."

"Liver? You gotta be kidding," He cackled so hard is cuffs clinked, "Man, you're making this too easy."

"Move inmate," the smaller of the two pushed, "and shut up."

Joker rolled his hazel eyes, a delightful smirk on his face.

_Oh, this will be fun._

 

 

♠♦♣♥

 

It had been one week since Charlotte's encounter with Joker. She only did four classes at Arkham. Mondays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays. She had a line-up of notorious criminals on her roster. She didn't like saying she “taught” the classes when she would just over see the inmates and carried on short conversations with them.

On the other days of the week, she had to preoccupy herself with different chores or else she'd dwell too much in what she'd forgotten.

During her stay in the hospital she befriended an elderly woman named Nona. The witch-like woman was slowly drifting into Alzheimer's. Which was why they were in the same ward .Charlotte promised her she would visit her once a week and help around her apartment. So, that became her Tuesday chore.

The last time she saw her, Nona asked if she ever went out with the nice boy she worked with. Assuming she meant Ned, Charlotte told her she wasn't interested in dating him or anyone for that matter. Nona tsked at her young, naive friend.

“You musta got your heart broken real bad.”

“Who knows,” She said softly as she watered her herbs, “I know I don't.”

Wednesday's she would go read to the foster kids and snuggle the babies. It was Bunah's idea for her to volunteer there since Gotham's orphan count was becoming so high. She loved her little friends. It warmed her knowing that someone out there was just as happy to see her as she was them.

When Bruce Wayne heard about Charlotte's situation, he tried to donate a large sum of money to help her get back on her feet. She refused and said she didn't like taking money she didn't work for. So, they compromised. Every Friday she would go to Wayne Manor and help Alfred and Bruce with anything he needed done. Dusting portraits and antiques. Do the grocery shopping. Help organize files.

Sadly, for the last few weeks she hadn't seen Bruce. Alfred would insist that there was nothing that needed done around the Manor. It depressed her in a way. She enjoyed her time spent with the two. Charlotte wondered if Bruce had disappeared to another country again.

Yesterday, she asked to speak to Bruce, but Alfred came up with another excuse that he wasn't feeling well. Charlotte felt as if she knew that actual reason. It had only been six months since Rachel died. He must have still been grieving. She couldn't blame him. How can you just get over someone you cared so much for? Do you ever?

Alfred began writing out a check for her. It was obvious he felt guilty that she came all this way for nothing. “Look, Mr. Pennyworth, I appreciate all that you and Bruce have done for me. I mean that from the bottom of my heart, but if you have no work for me, I can no longer except your help.”

He looked up at her surprised. He wasn't used to people declining money, especially from Master Wayne. “Ms. Clover you must understand—”

Words and footsteps were heard coming down the stairs accompanied by a long shadow. She followed it to it's owner and spotted a shirtless, bruised Bruce Wayne.

She gasped at the severity of his injuries, only then did Bruce spot her in the middle of his lobby. He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. “Hey! Charlotte! Sorry about my presentation. I wasn't _aware_ that anybody was here.” He said through his teeth as he eyed Alfred. The older man raised his shoulders and shook his head.

“What happened to you?” She asked carefully, knowing how secretive that billionaire was.

“Oh, I've picked up kick boxing! Great way to get the blood moving.” He jumped in place and put his hands up in a fighting stance.

Charlotte laughed, “You must not be very good.”

His arms dropped to his side and his mouth opened as if he was about to argue but instead let out another awkward laugh. “I'll get there. It was nice seeing you! Sorry there isn't much to do around here. I haven't been home lately, but when my schedule clears up maybe we can walk around the property or have dinner. Alfred if you would, please?” He motioned for the door as he jogged back up the stairs.

Alfred put his hand on the small of her back, leading her out the door and slipping the check into her coat pocket without her noticing.

“I'll come up with some work around here. Next Friday then?”

“Sure, Alfred. Thank you.” She kissed his cheek and made her way back toward the cab Alfred had called for her.

Charlotte only lived half a mile away from the asylum, which made for good walks. If she kept her head down she was sure to avoid any problems on the streets. Her black flats clicked against the pavements as she kept straightening down he knee-length dress. It was an uncomfortable habit.

She couldn't help but sigh in relief when she reached the gates. From here she could see her tall, shady apartment building. Her lips pursed at it. Arkham felt more welcoming than that joint.

The lobby was busy as usual. Nurses and guards chatting among themselves. Every once in a while she would catch a family member here for visitation. Since no one claimed her after he accident, she assumed she didn't have any family so to speak. Or any family that cared to know where she was. Charlotte tried to avoid the thought.

Unfortunately, to get to her class room she had to pass some of the inmate cells. She ducked her head when she saw the three psychologists having a heated discussion in the middle of the hallway. It wasn't unusual to see them argue, but it wasn't something she enjoyed being a part of.

It was safe to say the Dr. Blood and Dr. Young didn't take her seriously and were less then pleased when Arkham thought she'd be a great candidate for the art program. They considered it child like, but who didn't have fun creating? Obviously not the psychologists. She guessed they thought of her as childish as well.

Dr. Bunah excused himself and made a straight line for his patient, “Hello, Char. Lovely day isn't it?” His tone nervous as he spoke lowly to her.

She adjusted the poster she brought for class in her hands, “...Yeah. Lovely.” Her dark eyebrows furrowed. She wasn't used to his awkward blabber. He had always been straight forward with her. No, “how's the weather” ever.

She stopped in front of her door, seeing that there was already movement in her room, “What's going on?” She slowly asked. No one informed her that she'd have an early class.

“We wanted to get him seated first.”

“Who's 'him,' Adiv?” She was growing impatient and was not finding this tip-toeing humorous. He opened the door and lead her inside with his hand on her shoulder; fearing that if he let her go she would turn around and book it out of the building. The clown sat right in front of her desk, twiddling his thumbs and whistling much to the guards dismay.

“Hi!” Charlotte bellowed nervously, making all the men in the room jump, “Adiv, hi! Look who's here. In my room.” She shot Bunah a dreadfully frightened glare, but still kept a saccharine smile on her worried face.

“Yes. I am aware of this.”

“I wasn't. Why wasn't I aware of this,” She yammered on. Her fright overpowering her control for her mouth.

 _'She's handling this well.'_ The Joker thought to himself as he leaned back in his seat, an amused grin playing on his lips.

“One second, Joker,” Bunah waved while again leading Charlotte outside the door.

He shut it and spoke in a hushed tone to her, “I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, but I need your help.”

“Oh!” She let out a fake gasp, “That's nice! Too bad he will kill me before then!”

“He's not going to kill you. I assure you of that. We are so short staffed around here. I have thirty different patients I have to attend to every day. I thought you would be so kind as to maybe help me with him. I see improvement!”

She rolled her eyes, “You're my friend and I love you,” she said as she put a hand on his shoulder, “but you are out of your fucking mind.”

“Listen! It'll all work out! He takes interest in you! Maybe you can even get him to trust you, gather some information and I can conclude a diagnosis so I can get him the hell out of here. Please, Charlotte. You know I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't really need your help.”

He opened the door slightly, so she could peer at the criminal, staring out the window. Her palms got sweaty at the sight of him. Joker's veiny arms folded around his sides, his legs crossed. In a sense he looked serene. She shook her dead in disbelief. She couldn't allow herself to have such thoughts.

“Just do it and I will talk to Arkham about funding your program.”

She weighed her options for a moment. In the long run, she doesn't lose. Helping the psychologist would get Joker out of her quicker and if he tries anything she would never have to see him again. Charlotte groaned and threw her head back, “Fiiiiiiine.” She stomped into the room and in front of the criminal once more.

He stopped his whistling and looked at her, his lips still puckered. Hazel eyes wandered her being, re-familiarizing himself with it. Who knew how much someone could change in such little time? Five years. Like a blink of an eye. Her dark hair once barley brushed her shoulders, blonde patches poking out from every which angle. Hips rounder, face slimmer. She'd matured in ways and he was both comfortable and troubled with. They'd grown together all those years. Only his demolition began the day he thought she drowned in Gotham's waste. Yet, here she was and she flourished.

She held her own waist when his hazel eyes lingered too long. She held his gaze for a moment longer. 'Look but don't touch' her eyes warned. He winked in return; making her avert her eyes away from the clown.

“For every rule you break will result in a week in solitary and another week until you can return to class. Three strikes, you're out of the program.” Bunah warned, but he also seemed entertained.

“Sounds like a deal,” Joker sat up and kept his eyes on her. He shot out his tongue to both sides of his mouth before laughing quietly, “When do we begin?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to keep you guys waiting! I got deathly sick and didn't have it in me to write out all the ideas I had.  
> By the way I had to practically re-write this entire chapter on archive of our own because it would transfer correctly from my word document which didn't help.  
> Also, I'm sorry it's short! I have a lot more coming. I promise!


	4. Club

# Club

“I'll collect the other patients.” Bunah sighed, bowing his head to the pair and exiting the colorful room.

Charlotte took a shuddering breath, averting her eyes away from Jokers heated gaze. He hadn't blinked in minutes. Her mouth became dry and her palms clammy. She was not good at being the center of attention. When people stared too close at her face, she was desperate to cover it with her hair by playing with it. When they fixated on her curved hips, she'd hug her cardigan close to hide any potential flaw. Here he was staring at her being, her soul and there was nothing she could do to hide that from him.

Sighing, she decided the best thing she could do is reintroduce herself as someone with authority, no matter how false it felt. Joker was, of course, a man of formalities, “I guess a proper introduction is in order. I'm Charlotte Clover.” She reached out her shaking hand, waiting for him to bite at it like a pissed off, rabid dog. Instead, he reached out only to inspect her black nail polish and slim fingers.

Turning over her palm, he stared at her wrist and the tattoo that accompanied it. She thought for years to get it removed, but it was her only clue on who she was before. What did “J” mean and why would she want to have it on her for the rest of her life? Joker stared at it for a long time before opening his mouth to speak.

“I don't need an introduction, but I appreciate the manners,” He peered up at her through his black eyelids, “Do they come with a shot to the head?” He smooth talked before she ripped her hand out of his.

“Sure it does,” She walked to the large locked art supply cabinet, “you should give it a go sometime.”

A wild fit of giggles erupted in the room, making Charlotte glare at the clown. No wonder the city wanted him dead, he was more pestering than dangerous in her eyes.

He wheezed while wiping away a tear, “Oh, I've always loved your spice.”

She pondered his statement. 'Always loved'? The fear struck her again. She told him about the amnesia and Bunah said he's a master of manipulation. Choosing to ignore the statement, she changed the subject, “Don't disrupt the class.” She lectured while taking out her key, unlocking the cabinet, and taking out large sums of clay. “Don't be inappropriate with me or your fellow patients.”

“You would know how inappropriate I can be, Lo.”

She slammed a ball of clay on to the middle of his table. He didn't jump, only raised his eyebrows in surprise that she would try to intimidate him. That would be plain silly. Joker's lips curled when he thought about picking at her brain and getting on her nerves. Just as he did when they were teenagers.

“Don't give me nick-names, Charlotte is fine. Don't steal anything, I keep a record of who has what at all times. Don't attack anyone, that includes other patients. That's it. Follow the rules and everyone will have a good time.”

He leaned toward her, her hand still on the clay. He contemplated grabbing it and holding her still; get her to look him in the eye. Do some soul searching.

_'_ _I'll let her slide, this time. Don't wanna get carried away on the first day of_ ** _ **class**_** _._ _'_ He giggled at his own thought, “See, I'm not too good with rules...but for the sake of what's new; I'll abide. You're house, I'll respect that. The problem being, _Charlotte_ , is that I prefer 'Lo'. I'm going to be breaking that specific rule a whole lot. So, let's compromise.”

She put a hand on her hip and impatiently chewed at the inside of her bottom lip. She could hear the guards bringing the others in from down the hallway and she didn't want them to see her upset. One of two things could happen if they did. One: It would make the other patients angry. She had developed a trusting friendship with a few of them and would hate to see them all gang up on one guy. The Joker was clever, but standing alone against a crowd wouldn't end well. Two: The few that didn't care for her would gang up WITH the Joker and most likely kill her.

She gave a steady nod, trying to force the idea of anyone getting hurt away from her thoughts. “What is it then?”

“I won't break any of your _rules_ if I can call you 'Lo'.”

Charlotte could see Jonathon clump in his leg restraints while a line of patients followed him. It wasn't a big deal that he had a nick name for her, but it was the principal of the matter. She sighed and mouthed 'fine' as everyone waddled into the room. Selina being the last.

“Hey, Char!” She announced with a wave as a guard unbuckled her leg restraints.

“Oh, sure. She can call you whatever she wants.” Joker scoffed underneath his breath.

Charlotte eyed him and cleared her throat, “I was able to get some clay last week. When you're done I can harden it in the oven and we can paint them,” she suggested while passing out the last of the clay.

“You shouldn't be spending money on us.” Ivy admitted, smoothing the marl in her light green hands.

“Yeah, Old Man Arkham should be doing all that.” Selina retorted.

Charlotte's chocolate orbs fluttered toward Joker when she remembered Bunah's deal. He peered at the hand print she left in the material during their quarrel. “It's okay,” She assured, sitting behind her desk, “I want to get things for you guys. We can't just paint every day, that would get kinda boring.”

“Oh!” Ivy piped, “How are the old woman's plants?”

She smiled in return, “They look beautiful.”

Ivy always gave different notes and ingredients so the herbs and flowers could flourish. Unfortunately, Charlotte could only get over there once a week and didn't have a green thumb. Most of the plants were dying much to her avail, but she wasn't going to be the one to tell the super villain. She felt a pang of guilt as the green-tinted woman continued on with her sculpting with content.

Everyone's eye constantly rolled over Joker's still and quiet form. His stare locked to the clump in the middle of his table. Every few minutes she'd hear him chuckle to himself, but his lips would go back into a neutral line after he'd glance up at Charlotte. Whether she was looking at him or not, her thoughts would draw back to the clown. Was he not as she expected because he knew her? He knew how to act and how to bother her. He knew what would make her tense, how to shut her up. It wasn't fair. Maybe she should play his game? Figure out exactly what he knows. At the end, if he was just giving her the run around, she'd be back to square one. Yeah, she'd be disappointed but then there are still thousands of more possibilities as to who she was before.

“Char?” Selina cleared her throat, ripping Charlotte from her perturbed thoughts, “Can you get me like a spoon or something. It's hard to get the details right with just your nails. Plus, they cut mine real short after I got Officer Luke in the eye.” Catwoman let out a light laugh as she showed off her filed claws. She ripped a guards eye right out of the socket, plucked it out like a cherry stem, yet she managed to act like it was a slip of the hand. An accident that could happen at anytime. If you scare a cat, you get scratched. Charlotte knew she shouldn't laugh, but couldn't help the small snicker that left her lips.

“Sure, come on,” She met her at the case with the key in hand, Joker's eye following her every action with intent. Charlotte jumped when she felt Selina's strong grip on her bicep followed by a quiet shush.

“Is that fool making you nervous?” She inquired, her hold only tightening when she saw the dread on her friend's face. It's not that she was super nervous, but Selina's “whispering” wasn't exactly helping her situation.

“Honestly, Selina,” She reached in for the first tool she could grab, trying to hurry the conversation along. “You all made me nervous in the beginning.” Handing the tool to her peer without a second glance, she made her way back toward her desk. She cocked her head to Joker's curious face before she sat down.

The rest of the class went by without incident. The patients molded their clay with satisfaction. All of them looked more relaxed compared to when they had entered. Stressed shoulders had rolled down to a comfortable state and their tired eyes seemed at ease.

Selina returned the tool she used with glee, obvious excitement over her creation lingering on her narrow face. Charlotte always had a hard time hiding her smile toward the end of class. The idea of murderous criminals doing arts and crafts was unimaginable. Actually seeing them do it was hilariously cute.

The patients left restrained and guided, leaving behind the newest resident for Bunah himself. To Charlotte's relief, Joker hadn't been as big of a problem as she thought he would be and felt guilty for giving the doctor such a hard time about it. Maybe the murderer just needed someone that wasn't always evaluating his every move? As long as it didn't include hurting her, Charlotte paid no mind to what he was planning.

After she saw them off, she leaned against her desk and straightened out her skirt. Not being one to look professional and composed. Her messy braided back bangs and bun were a prime example of that. “Did you like it?” She asked plainly. If he didn't like it, he did not have to be in the program. It wouldn't hurt her feelings, but it did strain them when Joker let out an amused titter of laughter.

“Like it? How many times do you get to watch Scarecrow play with clay?” He giggled while running his painted hand through his toxic hair. “Everyone in this city wants us dead; yet here you are making little sculptures with Gotham's finest. Why's that?”

“They asked me to,” She began with a shrug, not knowing how to answer the question any other way. At first she declined. After waking up a blank slate, the last thing she wanted to do was be around criminals, or anyone for that fact, “Dr. Bunah thought it would be a good idea. He's right down the hall and if at any point in the day if I needed to talk to somebody he would be right there. Then he gave me other ideas. I did them all for a while, but I just stuck with the foster home. For some reason I just felt so drawn there and everyone was always so happy to so me and... I don't know. I was depressed. If I couldn't help myself, I wanted to help others.”

Joker gave a curt nod, consciously keeping his lips together as he observed her. He had so much to tell her, but not now. She wouldn't believe him this early into it. He had to build _Charlotte's_ trust if he wanted to get Lo back.

A hardy knock interrupted his train of thought, he knew who it was just by the expression on his Lo's face. The puny, annoying Officer Liver ambled toward her, his thumbs down his work belt and a shit-eating grin on his face. His black hair looked freshly buzzed down, but his facial hair looked like patches across his cheeks and neck.

“I thought class was over?” He questioned, ogling at the clown.

“It is,” She replied, “Something you need help with, Edwin?”

“Ned. I was just wondering if you had any plans for tonight?”

Charlotte sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. Joker remembered how Lo would do that when she was impatient, it was her tick, “Why?”

"Just wonderin'. I know you're usually not up to much."

She huffed and straightened her spine. "Well, for your information I do in fact have plans tonight." She tried to look proud, but ended up staring at the ground instead. Flushing at how everyone knew she was never _up to much_.

Both of the men raised their eyebrows at her in shock, making the small woman feel insecure. Sure she went out...sometimes. Most of the time by herself after she did her daily activities, but not tonight. Tonight different plans were in order. She was going to Wayne Manor for yet another one of his lavish charity event. She never went to one before, and Alfred invited her as Bruce's right-hand-gal. His words exactly. Of course she wouldn't say no to someone who has helped her throughout the years. That didn't mean she was going to let loose and forget about her composure.

He leaned into her side, “Okay, well if you change your mind, give me a shout.” He said, trying his best to sound cunning. It wasn't a true day at work without Edwin badgering her about going on a date.

He exited the room right as Bunah entered it; case file in hand and thick glasses on the tip of his button nose, “How did it go?” He asked without looking up, scrambling for a pen in his lab coat.

“No problems.” She remarked, “Everybody was great.”

This made the doctor's eyes flicker between the two, “That's good. Joker would you like to continue this program with Ms. Clover?”

He smiled with a hiss and raised his arms above his head, “Why the hell not!” He laughed while jingling his restraints and staring down the doctor.

“Oh, Charlotte. I had an access code made for you.”

Joker nodded in approval as she glanced down at the paper the psychologist handed to her. A six digit code written across it. Her dark eyebrows furrowed when she looked back up at him, “Why?”

“In case you need to get in to see an inmate, of course. You're helping me now, remember?”

“I thought I was helping you by doing the class?”

“You have so much potential, I'm sure it'll be fine. Come, Joker. I will escort you back to your room. Oh, Charlotte, did I hear correctly? You have plans tonight?”

“Why is this shocking news to everyone?” She laughed as her round, apple cheeks converted to a light pink. She covered her face with her hand the second she felt how warm they had become.

Jealousy raged through the criminal as his hands balled into fists. His upper lip twitching into a snarl. Was she doing this the whole time? **Dating** imbeciles while he's blowing up half the city in _her_ memory? Joker's pupils darkened as his pulse pumped battery acid, the thought of her lips on a different mans. When he thought she was dead he never felt this fire. A rage of what's his.

_'_ _If this is going to happen, it needs to happen fast_ _.'_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments and kudos! They really help with the writing process, especially when I start thinking it's shit. Lol. Stay tuned, folks!


	5. Diamonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being so patient! As a reward here's a long-ish chapter! I hope it was worth the wait.

 

“Why did I ever agree to this?” Charlotte mumbled as she tore through her closet for the sixteenth time. Every article of clothing she owned was either for work or day-to-day chores. Almost all of her jeans had holes in them and the nicest dress she had was a green cotton sundress that barley scraped her knees.

She threw her frustrated self onto her bed with a groan and looked up at her alarm clock. It read 5:25 and the event started at eight. Her eyes then wandered toward her phone.

' _I should just call and cancel. I don't want to embarrass Bruce and Alfred. Plus, I'm sure Bruce has dates on command. He could just call up one of his model friends.'_

She thought about the pole-like girls for a moment too long as she found herself gliding her hands over her soft stomach. Tracing her fingers over her curved hips, for a moment she felt _sensual_. She held on to the small amount of tummy fat she acquired over the years and started to giggle.

' _I was so skinny when they found me. Now look at me.'_

She slid her fingers up and between her ample bosom toward her throat and grabbed it firmly, imagining the hand was not her own but a veiny, painted one. She felt the grooves of her neck and collar bone. How easily he could've crushed her, stopped it all right then and there. The power he had over her for those few seconds. When she found herself panting and tempted to wander her hands, her eyes snapped open; shooting up from the bed.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” She shivered, trying to make sense of her thought process. ' _Seriously, what the_ _ **hell**_ _is wrong with me?'_ Her conscious roared as she hit herself on the head. There was no time for this. She already styled her ash brown hair with beach-like waves and a weaving braid to keep her bangs away from her face. She painted her eyelids a coppery brown and her lips light rose. _'Now all I need is a damn dress.'_

Chewing on the tips of her fingers, she paced her tiny apartment, rolling the decision over in her head once more; contemplating the outcome of wearing work clothes to a charity event. That red blouse would look nice— except for the purple paint stain. She had gotten in the center of Hugo and Jonathon's little brawl and they had pushed her out of the way and right into Ivy's desk face first. She had to continue working the rest of the day with her chest peppered in purple paint.

“I'm just gonna have to call him,” She decided, making a quick turn only to be met with a loud squeak and throbbing pain in her shin, “Fuck!”

She's lived in the apartment for years and always managed to forget about the sharp-cornered coffee table that inconveniently sat in her living room. Most of the scars on her legs were from the damn thing. Everything had fallen off of it in the collision.

Charlotte groaned, in both pain and annoyance, before bending over to collect her half-read books, unlit candles, and the framed picture of her and Nonna when they went to the old opera house were she used to perform. Almost 60 years had passed, but her passion stayed true to the opera. The elder dolled both of them up with skillfully done make-up, gorgeous costume jewelry, and beautiful dresses. Nonna made Charlotte squeeze into a peach wrap dress and a brown faux-fur scarf. She kept every outfit she performed in. Some were extravagant ballgowns that swept the floor with every step, some wrapped tight against every curve. There must have been over a hundred outfits in there.

“That's it!”

♠ ♦ ♣ ♥

_Perdita's Home for Children was another hole that Gotham threw it's unwanted in. Where they send the hopeless, good-for-nothing, too-broken-to-be-adopted children. When they turned eighteen, they're thrown on the streets. Like they never existed. Never mattered. Turning them in to a bigger problem than what Gotham was trying to avoid in the first place. Maybe if they weren't ignored, neglected they wouldn't of come out this way. Kid's come, criminal's leave. Drug-pushers, robbers, prostitutes. Killers. PHC was like that for a long while. Until the day she showed up._

_The rooftop was his turf. Everyone knew that. Where he would plan the demise of PHC and it's participants. The “security”, the “counselors”. Fake badges for fake people. They didn't want to help them, they wanted to use them. Touch them. Make them suffer._

_Not Jack. They knew better than to pull anything with Jack._

_She appeared with the last of winter, the snow was melted, but the sky always threatened for more. It left Gotham looking as dark as it felt. The usual black Oldsmobile rolled into the horseshoe driveway, like a coroner at a murder scene. The driver stepped out with the umbrella and opened the door for the newest addition._

_The first thing he saw was a pair of yellow rain boots step carefully outside. He could tell she knew this place was a sham by how unsteady she got out of the car. Black socks went past her knees up to her navy blue dress and battered gray pea coat that hung heavy on her body, weighed her down. Finally she peeked her head out. Her dreary brown eyes, lavender veins lining them like lace. Her red nose and cheeks stood out from the rooftop. She looked like she just left a funeral._

_While the driver took her bag from the trunk, she inspected her surroundings. The building was unkempt and run-down, just like it's inhabitants. Vines tangled along the brick. Dirty dark windows to hide dirty dark secrets. The wet snow started to fall like the clouds had proclaimed, she looked up with her eyes closed. Letting the cold drops hit her warm face, she breathed out her mouth slowly as she took it all in. She knew her life was over, that this was it, what it came to. Yet, she looked so calm and prepared._

_Jack stared down at her, confused and intrigued. If he tried to look any closer at her he'd fall right over the railing. He didn't know he'd be able to gaze at her for years to come, but at the time it seemed like his only opportunity to inspect her. And when she opened her eyes..._

“...There she was.” Joker let out an obnoxious sigh as he recalled his first memory of Lo.

Bunah was scribbling in Charlotte's long forgotten case file. The police report being the only notes in the dusty folder. He looked up at the criminal, his dark, bushy eyebrows furrowed. “What happened to her parents?”

“They're dead, obviously. That's why she went to an or-phan-age.” He slowly answered the dumb question while giving the doctor an amused look.

“No,” Bunah objected, “How did they die?” he rephrased impatiently.

“Dunno about the dad, but her lunatic of a mother offed herself. Lo found her, I guess.”

Adiv put down the file and analyzed the patient that wasn't even in the room. His poor friend. If her conscious awoke would it be really worth it? “Charlotte must have been traumatized. Did she ever mention to you how she felt about the whole incident?”

Joker shrugged, “She said she didn't mind. That her mother was bound to do it at some point. Mama Clover never let them leave the house. She home-schooled Lo. Taught her to be nothing but scared. Lo even mentioned that if the old lady didn't already kill herself, she would be more than glad to do it for her.”

The psychologist laughed in disbelief only to be met with the serious, dark eyes of Joker. The criminal cleared his throat, “See, _Charlotte_ is this victim that you, with the help of the GCPD, created. Lo would've brushed this whole incident off. Had she been shot anywhere else, you would've never met her. Because Lo isn't a victim. She just got...” Joker lifted up his cuffed hands, only to have them fall back into his lap, “caught in the mix.”

This was the first time Bunah ever saw The Joker as a man. Not an clown or a criminal mastermind. Just a sad man that couldn't even make eye contact because he was so ashamed. Bunah, as a husband, worried that there would be times he wouldn't be able to protect his beloved. The vile feeling that takes the heart hostage. Knowing that if something happened to her, neither of them would ever be the same. That was what he saw in the Joker. A feeling he didn't want to imagine. “Can you tell me what happened the night she got shot?”

Joker sighed, the gory night reappearing in a flash. He shook his head, the black around his eyes only making his glare feel more dangerous. Bunah knew he wouldn't move to harm him, then Charlotte would never come near him again. That didn't stop the clown from imagining his hands around the doctors fat throat, “I'll leave that up to her.”

Bunah snapped the folder closed and stood, “I expect results.” He matched his patients poisonous tone.

“I'm a man of word.”

♠ ♦ ♣ ♥

Charlotte kept adjusting the black long-sleeved sheath dress that Nonna picked out for her. Regardless of the beautiful white jewels that swept across her chest, it threatened to hitch up and reveal too much of her stocking covered legs. She never had this problem with dresses, her 5'4 stature rarely wore one that was too short. Of course, this had to be the night she was betrayed be length.

The car that had been sent for her pulled around the backside of Wayne Manor. Alfred told her he'd meet her there so she wouldn't be overwhelmed with interviewers and paparazzi. When the car came to a full stop and the driver got out to open her door, a new but familiar anxiety filled her. Not because of her dress or the event. She couldn't track the deja vu. The car door opened and cold air hit her face; but she couldn't pop herself from the dream-like feeling. She had done this before. Felt this before.

“Madame Clover! Better late than never, I suppose,” Alfred's chipper accent obtruding her thoughts. His hand helped her out the car and into the kitchen, where the hustle of cater staff quickly brought Charlotte into reality. He pushed forward, toward the ballroom everyone was in.

“Oh, Alfred; I'm so sorry I'm late.” She quavered, her smoky eyes observing the full room that she had been led to. Men and woman chatted amongst themselves as a small orchestra played in front of the large staircase. It smelled like foreign food and potpourri. No matter how classy and elegant that event seemed, she couldn't help but giggle at how cheesy all of it was.

“Nothing I'm not used too. I believe Master Wayne has yet to make his appearance. I'll let him know that you have arrived. Anything to drink? Dagueneau Silex? Sassicaia?”

Charlotte cocked her head and her cheeks flushed, “Is that...a liquor?”

“A wine,” He chuckled at the young woman, “No need to fear, Madame Clover. Most people pretend to know what those are. They just say yes and look relieved when I bring it.. Ah, there he is.”

“Hello, Alfred. Charlotte.” Bruce's hand landed on her shoulder, making her jump at the contact. Bruce had never touched her before, even with his words he kept his distance. Never revealing too much himself. She respected his privacy and carefully picked each of her questions; afraid she would pick one that would make him falter.

“Hi Bruce,” She smiled, although uncomfortable, “You look nice.” Noting his well-fitting tux and velvet bow tie. He straightened his spine at the compliment and brushed a hand through his brown locks. A habit he did quite often.

“Thank you, you look lovely as well. Beautiful dress.”

She looked down at her outfit and tittered, “Thanks, I borrowed it from a friend. I don't own anything this nice.”

“You should've told me, I'd get you one. All you had to do was ask, Charlotte.” Bruce admitted while guiding her through the crowd. Eye's gliding over her friend's dark, mysterious figure only to roll at her awkward one.

“I couldn't do that. Especially if it's for a dress I'd only wear once.” Charlotte tried to ignore the nosy, snotty faces of the female guests. There perfect and possibly fake noses sticking high in the air when she'd notice them staring. She quickly found herself staring at the floor whenever Bruce would greet guests; saying a quiet hello when she was introduced. It seemed like a line of finely dresses visitors awaited their welcome from the billionaire playboy.

“Mr. Wayne!” A blonde, big mouthed woman screeched; her breasts threatening to pop out with every step she took, “I'm Laura Topinoff from the paper. Could I bother you for a picture for my article? I'm doing the piece on the event. How kid of you to host at your own home?” Her blue eyes landed on Charlotte, who was trying her best to hide behind Bruce's muscular figure, “And who is this? Your date?” Her fake, large lips up turned into a sickening grin. The red color reminding her too much of the clown.

“Her name is Charlotte Clover, she works a Arkham.” He looked over his shoulder to his much smaller friend. She gave a fake smile and stepped from behind him, trying her best to stand to tall to the terrifying reporter. “And yes, she is my date.”

“Oh, how sweet! What do you do at Arkham if you don't mind me asking? Lunch lady?” Her bleached eyebrows poking up.

Charlotte cocked her head, her lips now pursing, “Actually, Ms. Topinoff, I teach art therapy to our patients.”

The plastic woman cackled, “Art for the criminally insane? Cute! At least they will be cultured when they're cured.”

“I guess they will be.”

Bruce cleared his throat and wrapped his hand around her shapely waist, “So, about that picture?”

“Oh, yes!” The camera man next to her lifted up his device as they both smiled. Charlotte sucked in her gut as naturally as she could

Topinoff's pearly whites flashed again, “Adorable! Nice seeing you again, Bruce.” Her eyes turning into narrowed slits at his date, “Charlotte.” And just like the flash of the camera. She was gone.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” Bruce's nose wrinkled as he watched his small friend, only to again be torn away from her by hordes of business men and woman alike.

She dipped her head away from them and started looking around the room. Every inch crawling with rich snobs. _'Okay start thinking of excuses. Maybe cough a little? Say you have an early class tomorrow? No. He asked me to come. It would be rude to leave. But these people are so awful. Find a place to hide for awhile. Keep your head low.'_

As Bruce spoke business with an old board member, she inspected once more. The second floor was blocked off, the band hadn't moved since she arrived. This was Wayne Manor; filled with secrets around every corner. There had to be more than one way upstairs. Whenever Bruce called for Alfred he always came from the kitchen. That's where the other set of stairs had to come from.

She softly cleared her throat and reached out for Bruce's toned arm; stopping him mid-sentence of his probably important conversation, “If you'll excuse me. I'm going to grab a drink. Want anything?”

“Uh, I'm good. Thanks though.” He half-smiled at her before returning his attention to the older man. She nodded before making a b-line for the kitchen door down the hallway.

The catering staff were too busy to even notice her, just how she liked it. Grabbing a cheese cube on a tooth pick and a bottle of pink wine she walked around the kitchen, which had a surprising amount of doors that she never noticed. Opening each one slightly, she'd peek in and then quickly shut it. Gaining a few odd looks from the waitresses, but she carried on until there was only one door left toward the hallway. It was the exact staircase she was looking for and her only way out. She looked around once more before sliding into the compartment and fleeing up. It led to another door she had to jimmy the nob to gain entry, the main upstairs hallway was a blessing she had been waiting for since the second she left the car.

She sighed in her solitude. Alone at last. She could barley make out the classical music and jibber-jabber of the guests. At this point, she knew exactly where she was going. In the mix of the party, the Manor became stuffy, making her lungs feel tight with not just anxiety. The last thing she wanted to do in front of his judgmental visitors, especially the oh-so-kind Ms. Topinoff, was taking a big puff of her inhaler. As soon as her hand landed on the knob of the glass door, her worries were pushed away.

The balcony was a sanctuary, scattered with a few lounge chairs. The city lights lingered in the distance; it being the only time Gotham looked scenic and gorgeous. From a far distance. Charlotte leaned against the railing and took a deep whiff of the cool, night air. The string-lights were dimmed, to not impose the brightness of the stars. She'd been up here once before. It was a warm day, but it wasn't quite summer. Alfred and Bruce were cleaning everything off from the last season, and required nothing more but her company. Alfred made lunch and Bruce spoke about his time away and the different countries he went to. Alfred had been to some of them as well. She felt so small compared to their adventures. They asked if she would ever want to join them for a short vacation, but she could never abandon her duties in the city.

Tomorrow she would return to work as if this night had never happened. She'd be surrounded by her friends that didn't care that she was clumsy and stuttered from time to time or if she sucked in her stomach while she walked. Friends that were too involved in the crafts to care about what she was doing. Just how she liked it.

Except, now she had the Joker staring her down every opportunity he had. She hoped, like the others, he would come around. Treat her kindly, like she would treat him. Or just bust out. That wouldn't be an issue for her. Right now, a conversation with the vindictive Joker sounded like a dream-come-true compared to downstairs. The Asylum seemed more accepting than these guests. How she longed to be in her art room. Anywhere but here.

“Hey, find your own hiding spot.”

She spun around so quickly she almost dropped her wine, “Bruce-I-I kind of got a little lost.” The billionaire bachelor leaned against the door frame amused as he watched his friend try to come up with an excuse. When nothing came out but apologies, he only nodded and walked over to her. Stopping directly in front of her, her hands hiding her blushing cheeks.

“You think you're the only one that wants to hide from those pricks?” He laughed as he sat her down on one of the chairs. Her face still hot with embarrassment, “You can **tell** me when you feel uncomfortable. You can **tell** me when you need a break. It's okay.” He pulled up a chair next to her and lounged back, gazing at the distant bright view.

“I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your company.” She groaned, taking a large gulp of the flowery wine. She coughed, it was like drinking out of a bottle of old perfume, “Like that.” She wiped her mouth, not caring how un-ladylike she looked now. If her hair was messy, her make up smeared. _'To hell with it'_

He scoffed, “I wouldn't of invited you if I thought you were going to embarrass me. Do you really think I'm one of them?”

“I know you're not. I just—I'm a really bad judge of character. My closest friends are criminally insane. The other one is an old witch and her memory is quickly deteriorating. It took her a second to recognize me when I came over.”

“You have me. An orphaned billionaire with a superiority complex.”

She giggled and leaned back into the soft chair, the pink wine she guzzled down warmed every inch of her. Her skin feeling like it was glowing. She looked at her hand, stretching out her fingers. The same hand Joker held on to earlier that day. His fingers were so cold, she could only imagine if her touched her know. The contact would probably steam. She turned it over and stared at the 'J', only with hopes that he or she was having a better night than she was.

A strange pressure caught her by surprise, expensive cologne filling her nostrils. It wasn't a kiss that she wanted, but it felt too sad, too needed to pull away from. Instead, she pressed her palm on Bruce's shoulder, making him stop instantly, his melancholy eyes meeting her own.

Charlotte knew what it was really about. She'd talked with Rachel a few times. Not enough to be friends, but enough to know she was a kind and honest and wanted the best for her childhood friend. Bruce had hidden away, for months she didn't see or hear from him. Then one day he came out, like nothing ever happened. She told Alfred that he should have Bruce see Bunah, but even Alfred knew that there was no convincing the him to do anything he didn't want to do.

She took her friends hand in hers, consoling him with her eyes, “That was weird.”

He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair before giving her a halfhearted smile,“Yeah. That was weird. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay, Bruce.” She whispered, swearing she could hear a series of clicks go off in the distance. It was warm out, bugs and plants were alive. It must have been the beetles waking up for the night.

“You look a lot like her when you laugh. It caught me off guard.”

“I've been told that before.” She sarcastically thought out loud, Bruce's forehead puckered.

“That you look like Rachel?”

She shook her head and took another, much needed sip of her wine, “No. Our new resident is convinced I'm an old girlfriend or something. That's the first thing he said to me. 'You look just like her.' Proceeded with being chocked against a wall, but hey! That's the asylum business for ya.”

“The Joker?”

“Yup. That one.” She sighed before standing up, forgetting she had chocked down copious amounts of alcohol. Her head spun momentarily before Bruce kept her balance.

“That guy is insanity personified. How could the staff even let him close to you? Are they losing their minds? You have to be cautious around him.” He babbled on and on, his words blending together.

Charlotte looked off into the glowing distance of Gotham. The lights looking like an illuminated river that she wanted to take a dip in to. Slide off her dress that wasn't her own. Swim with the skylights, “I know, but I think there's a chance that he's not all that bad.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everybody for the kind comments! I really wanted to impress with a good chapter, but it kind of turned into something... else? I guess. I'm just running with it. Don't worry! The Joker and Lo will be appearing together for most of the next chapter!


	6. Lucky Clover

“I puked in the shower. Twice.” Charlotte admitted before taking a large gulp of the orange juice Bunah had brought her. He watched her, amused, from the other side of her desk; never have seeing her hungover before. Every nauseous groan she made threatened to make him laugh. He was happy she actually went out. Even if she didn't enjoy herself.

“Did you have fun?”

“Hardly. I never want to be surrounded by that many judgmental jerks again.”

“Too bad you work with psychologists,” He belly-laughed. Her rich earth eyes squint in anguish, she shushed him while rubbing her temples. “Does this mean I'll be finding you half-unconscious at your desk more often?”

“No! I am never drinking again,” She raised her right hand with pride.

Charlotte was able to contain herself from throwing up on Bruce during the drive home. And when he helped her up the stairs. And when he unstrapped her shoes after watching her fail at taking off the wicked things. Obviously, Bruce was being extra kind due to his unwelcome affection. It didn't go unappreciated, but she was desperate for him to leave. To sit, embarrassed, in her solitude. The second the door clicked behind him everything came up. Although she knew it was from her excessive drinking, she blamed it on the poisonous kiss.

“Why are you here so early anyways?” Bunah questioned while looking down at his watch. It wasn't even time for him to make his rounds, yet here she was two hours early.

She gave him a sheepish look before resting her head back down on the cool wood of her desk. “My entire apartment smells like vomit.”

“Say no more,” He recoiled before walking toward the hallway, “I'll see you in a couple hours.”

♠ ♦ ♣ ♥

Joker stared down at his plastic tray, tired and annoyed. He hadn't slept much, if any, the night before. He spent his hours awake contemplating where Lo was and who she was with. Out on the town, having a grand old time, while he spent the whole night on a three inch thick mattress. His brain taunted him with on going anxious scenarios. Her smooth legs around another mans waist. Getting blitzed off her ass and having some thug try something. _Anything_. And he would not be able to go for their throats if they laid a single finger on her.

Time needed to speed up. He **needed** to see her, make sure she was okay. The schemes running through his head made his hands shake. His heart pounded angry blood and there was no way he could take out the aggression.

So he sat, and stared. A bowl of oatmeal, half a grapefruit, three sausage links and a cup of coffee. The only appealing member of this wholesome breakfast was the plastic tray. And whether he could beat someone senseless with it. Not just anyone. The fool guard, the one that never left Lo alone, stood near the doors. His thumbs tucked into his belt and whistling with satisfaction.

_'_ _Oh, little bird, I wonder how easy your bones break._ _'_ His eye twitched with delight as gory images flashed like fireworks, patriotic pictures of violence parading his imagination. Those inhuman dreams were only interrupted by a rail-thin man, blocking his soon-to-be prey. The clown flashed his painted charcoal eyes at the content criminal before him. A tight-lipped smile on his slender face.

Joker tilted his head without breaking his unrelenting stare, “Do you, uh, need something, Crane?”

Jonathon picked up his fork with an amble hand and shrugged his shoulders, “Long time, no talk. Just thought I would... see how you're holding up,” He dived into his breakfast, leaving his acquaintance confused. Holding up? Why the hell would Crane care how anyone was holding up?

“Splendid as always,” Joker mumbled, his brow arched.

With his cheeks full of food like a hungry chipmunk, Jonathon opened his sloppy mouth, “Did you read the news?” Crumbs of toast falling out onto the table, making Joker lose an appetite he didn't even have.

The clown rolled his eyes and sighed, “No, I must've missed the paperboy. What a shame.”

In an instant, Crane stopped chewing, his knowing smile reappearing along his messy mouth. Joker was never one to admit if something made his skin crawl. Scarecrow's face had a habit of giving him the creeps. He was reluctant to ever work with Crane, but his serum was something he would never pass up. Watching people scream at what they fear most brought warmth to his heart. He couldn't help wondering how many of them squirmed at the sight of clowns.

Jonathon drummed his fingers against the table as he glanced around the cafeteria. Guards were huddling around each other, all cackling at the article in their hands. Joker's ears perked with interest. He was all about the funnies. It had to be something demented if Crane wanted to talk about it... with him. A gray underlining to the black and white print. Something too dark for the foolish eyes of a common security guard to see.

Joker nodded toward the giggling uniformed imbeciles as their laughs grew harsher. “What's so funny?” Jonathon only shrugged, shoveling more artificial breakfast food into his hole. Where the hell did all this food he inhaled go?

Crane burped before wiping his mouth, his tray now clear of scrap. “Clovers, they are truly symbolic. To some, the three leaves represent The Holy Spirit, thanks to good ol' Saint Patrick. We've discussed this once before, remember? Not clovers specifically but the joys of growing up Irish. It was the night we gunned down some mob at the Shamrock. Good times. Anyways, back to symbolism. Now, clovers are typically related to something we both have currently ran out of...” He motioned for Joker to finish his sentence with his bony hand, waving it for him to continue.

Annoyed, Joker thought on it. Clovers and shamrocks. If he was in the mood for riddles, he'd just dine with Nygma instead. His tongue flicked to both sides of his scarred mouth before answering, “Luck?”

Jonathon's lips pulled into a wider smile, “Luck! Clovers also symbolize luck. Which is interesting because a certain Clover has gotten rather lucky according to The Gotham Times. And that, my friend, is what's so funny.”

Joker's knuckles turned white as the wheel's churned in his mind. Clovers. Why else would he be talking to him? Crane was smart and quick to catch on, but knew when the territory was too treacherous to tread. That's why he wouldn't come right out and say it. He had to make the clown work for his rage. Let it build, so he could collapse.

His chest heaved, every breath a struggle to contain his fury. Crane could be saying all this to get to him. To make him break. So, instead of lashing out, which of course Joker thought was the more reasonable reaction, he calmed himself. Lowering his shoulders, stretching out his fingers. Even thrashing his head to the side to hear a satisfying crack. All that just so he could ask a mere question. So he wouldn't lose control.

“Oh, is that so? And what has our favorite trifolium been up to?” Joker's cool demeanor merging into his speech. He should've been an actor, considering how easy he could bury his anger.

Jonathon only let out a disappointed sigh. It wasn't the reaction he wanted. The asylum had bored him. He still had too many plans to cultivate before he could return back to terrorize the streets. His only real form of entertainment was getting under the skin of his co-inhabitants. Crane let off like nothing could frighten him. Like he had already seen the depths of fear itself, but a strong grip clapping on his shoulder made him jump in way that surprised the straw-man.

“How kind of you to notify our new resident of current events, Jonathon.” Bunah's orotund voice announced from behind Crane, his stare locked on the erratic clown; flicking his head toward the door way.

Taking it as his cue to leave, Joker tipped an invisible hat to Scarecrow and departed down the hallway. The distance he put between himself and the others had caused his swallowed feelings to resurface. His face distorted as his anger refluxed. He stared down at the newspaper in Bunah's fist, wondering if he should swipe it out of his hands and see exactly what damage she caused.

“I was hoping I'd get to you before the story spread. I assure you, it's not as bad as Jonathon made it sound. Pictures are worth a thousand words, I suppose.” Bunah's psycho babble sounded foggy and distant as Joker's mind withdrew. A smile. A fight. Anything, as long as it was Lo. The only valuable advice the fat guy had given him was to picture her in times of distress. To retreat to her, like he had done all those years prior. That was all he could manage to do. Picture her bow-shaped lips. Her round, almond eyes. The problem was, the more he pictured her, the more he craved.

Bunah opened the door, leading the weary Joker into the dark room. The first thing he noticed was the large tinted window that separated the room he was in to the room next to it. He stepped in front of it, in front of her as slow as he could manage. In all actuality, he felt like running up to the glass, like a kid in an aquarium. She looked like hammered shit. Her puffy, tired eyes weren't the same as he was envisioning earlier. He wanted to lay her down, hold her still. Like he used to. Let her sleep until her eyes were no longer swollen.  
“She can't see you. I asked her to meet me in there so we could discuss... whatever it is we need to discuss. You can interpret what you feel the need to.” Without another word Bunah closed the door behind him and entered the other room. Charlotte's tired eyes turning worried within seconds. Joker clicked the microphone on the wall to 'on'.

“What's going on?” Her soft voice quavered as she looked to her friend. In all her years working, Bunah never asked for her to meet outside a scheduled appointment. She must have done something wrong. Was it for falling asleep at her desk? How unprofessional he must have thought of her. Charlotte's cheeks began to flush as her anxieties piled on. He slid the paper across the table wordlessly, watching as her confused face morph to horror. Her eyes flicked across the article before she slammed her hands down on the table, her breath feeling tight in her throat. She re-read the article aloud to ensure it's reality.

“Bruce Wayne Snags A Lucky Clover. At a charity event hosted at our favorite billionaire's humble home, Bruce Wayne was wrapped up in a charity case of his own: Charlotte Clover, an art teacher at Arkham Asylum. She is also a patient of the notable Dr. Adiv Bunah since an accident that has left her with amnesia. Bruce had asked her to accompany him to the event as his date and was later caught smooching with Mr. Wayne atop a secluded balcony. This reporter has seen her share of Bruce Wayne arm candy, but none quite like the quaint Charlotte. Best of wishes to this lucky girl.”

There were two pictures alongside the piece. The decent one of her and Bruce she consented to and a somewhat blurry one of them on the balcony, his mouth on hers. Her shaking hands crumbled the paper as tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

“At least now you have a good reason to drink tonight,” Bunah joked as he took the seat next to his mortified friend, “Care to explain?”

She sniffed as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, her disheveled appearance only confirming what the article had called her. A charity case. Tears started free falling and all she could do was stare at her pathetic self; not knowing that a perturbed clown sat on the other side, examining her just as close. Is this how people saw her? Bunah rested his brown hand atop hers with reassurance as she took a shaky breath.

“I went to the balcony to hide from those people. Bruce found me and we talked for a while. Out of nowhere he just plants one on me, I didn't want him to. I don't even think he wanted to. I knew I heard something clicking. I thought it was beetles, but it was that damn reporter. He apologized and took me home because I drank too much wine to make it by myself. He's just so sad and I don't think I made it any better by telling him that I thought the man that killed someone he loved wasn't all that bad.”

“It's not the end of the world, Charlotte. It's a shit article, written by a shit reporter. This can not the worst thing that has ever happened to you.”

She covered her face with her hands as small sobs slipped out her mouth, “Well, as far as I can remember this **is** the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

“You got shot in the head. You're going to let some slander get the best of you?” He took both of her shoulders in her hands and gently shook her into reality, “Lo, you're better than this. You're stronger than this.”

“What did you just call me?” She gasped, her hands falling into her lap. Bunah cursed himself, blaming his frequent talks with the Joker for the uncalled for name, but he couldn't help it. If Lo was her true identity it was his job to get her back. Charlotte rolled her dark orbs before standing to her feet, “Great. Now he's got you doing it.”

  
Joker's shoulders dropped after he heard her explanation. Lo never lied a day in her life, her honesty an honorable trait. Although she wasn't exactly the same now, he'd seen no reason for Charlotte to fib. How upset she was about the stupid article only made him uncomfortable. Yes, he thought she was being emotional, but someone going out of their way to hurt her made him rage. He watched her bicker to the doctor from the other side of the glass. Her face red from the mix of anger and distress.

“Are all my friends converting to madmen?” Charlotte scoffed as reached for the door handle. She had enough of Bunah's excuses: How he wanted her to hear Joker out. That maybe something he says will flicker light back into her life, all the memories could come back. That there was no harm in talking. His best joke.

When she pulled the door open there was only a collision between her and a force dressed in gray. She took a small step back, about to apologize, until she realized who exactly she ran into. She stiffened with fear. Where had he come from? How much had he heard?

Joker only walked closer to her before looking up at Bunah, “Sorry to, uh, interrupt. It was getting kinda rowdy in here,” He let out a pleased laugh, “You mind, Doc?”

Bunah looked between the two before pointing his sausage-like index finger at the criminal, “I will be listening. Make no mistake of that.”

Charlotte closed her eyes at the sound of the door shutting, a new fear settling inside of her. They were alone. Joker exhaled through his nose as he took Charlotte's seat at the table. He unfolded the crumbled newspaper with careful hands while staring at her statuesque figure.

Flattening it with his palms, he finally analyzed what had created so much commotion. It was a great picture of her, although that Wayne guy had his hands a little too far down her waist, but could he blame him? How that black dress accented her cures, like embroidery on lace. A temptation filled him to bite at those hips, even now as she covered herself with her jacket.

With careful hands he ripped down the center of the couple, folding her half andplacing it in his pocket. Joker looked up at her and gave her a lazy smiled, only to see her tear-stung cheeks twitch in response. A smile he would've missed if he blinked.

“Yanno,” He began, his hands going back to work on the torn paper, “You shouldn't let it bother ya. Is kissing some rich guy something you should shame yourself for?”

Caught by surprise, Charlotte's head tilted, “No. I-I just don't like being the center of attention.” Her voice close to a soft whisper, “I don't want to give people a reason to-”

“No one's gonna give you shit,” His stern words flowed slow, his hands still tearing, “Not even me. It's not like you stood on the grand piano and did a damn drunken strip tease. Now that's something I'd like to read about, but this?” He motioned toward the scraps on the table, his permanent smirk curling more, “Trash. I could tell you some real good stories.”

He stood, his body immediately looming over her short stature. Her dark eyes fixated on the spot he left. The paper looked like a mosaic against the table, an accidental piece of art. She tried to focus on that instead of him strolling closer, his hands shoved inside his jumpsuit pockets. Her hair was on end, every part of her body pulsating with electricity. He was so close to her and if he touched her, she thought he'd get shocked with 1,000 volts. His crimson mouth found it's way to her ear, his warm breath caressing it.

“If ya let me, I'll tell ya sometime.” A barley audible whisper tickled her.

He left after inhaling her vanilla scent, a stoned look over his painted face. Her aroma being the only opiate he could get high off of. Drugs were for show, power. Never use. That's why the game with these mob bosses were so easy to play and why he always won. Well, except for the first try, but he was working back from that. She was here and he was still winning.

Charlotte's wide eyes followed him out the door where Bunah met him. He threw a concerned look at her, Joker nodded before they disappeared down the hallway. When they were out of sight she shook her arms, trying to rid herself of the energy coursing through her, only to fall back where he sat. Joker had a point, it wasn't something to be so upset over. What bothered her more was the violation of her privacy. The idea of someone watching her without her knowledge made her skin crawl.

Defeated, she began to pick up the intricate pieces of paper. She thought he was just tearing them out of boredom, but the placement was so precise. Words from different articles torn out with intent. Random ones: Buses, economy, mayor, tonight, meet...

“Huh?” She squinted her eyes at the different fonts that splayed out in front of her. She backed up, analyzing even harder. She knew he did it on purpose, that he had more to say. Bunah was watching, Joker wasn't foolish enough to say something important in there. If he fessed up anything, it wasn't going to be in front of the doctor. Joker wouldn't give anyone what they want.

She gulped at the ransom-like note in front of her. The artistry was gone from this mosiac, replaced with nothing but shattered glass. The pieces in front of her turned deadly and sharp.

"Meet me tonight."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long, but to be honest I've had a god awful last few weeks. Long story short, everything got hard and my brain is kinda foggy. So, here it is! I hope it was worth the wait!

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to update as much as possible. There's a lot more I want to do with this story.


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